Mother's Day
by oneiromancer242
Summary: Two-part unseasonal fluff bomb : Peter is terrible at shopping for Mother's Day. Erik gives him a hand.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N : Unseasonal holiday fics anyone? Reader prompt, Peter trying to shop for Mother's Day.**

"Why do we have Mother's Day anyway?" Peter scuffed at the pavement with his feet, doing a great job of looking like he could hardly be bothered to move, "It's not a real thing, is it? Isn't it just an excuse to sell cards and candy?"

"I think it's connected with the Christian calendar in some way"

"Ahh, well, *we're* not Christians! So if I skipped out, Mom would probably be fine with that!"

For what felt like the thousandth time that morning, Erik sighed and clenched his jaw with frustration. Getting Peter to do something he didn't feel like was like herding an entire clutter of cats. Wait, it was worse. It was like trying to teach show-jumping to slugs.

"Your mother would most certainly not appreciate it if you 'skipped out', Peter" he said firmly, "Honestly I'm surprised at you, why don't you want to get her something?"

"It's not that," the boy protested, "Just... I dunno, I'm really bad at this kinda stuff. Can we do it tomorrow?"

"You've been saying that for a week. Tomorrow is Mother's Day"

Peter made a discontented huffing sound, rolled his eyes, buried his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. Though he realised that his father had a point, the idea of picking something for his mother filled him with a weird kind of dread that he would have found hard to articulate, instead coming up with one excuse after another for not wanting to go shopping with Erik. Eventually however he had run short of excuses, and virtually been dragged into town by his ear. Briefly, he missed being six years old and getting away with a badly-drawn card and a bunch of flowers gathered from the back yard, mostly weeds since Peter had never been able to tell the difference. Wondered if he was too old to make her a card, dismissed the thought just as quickly – in all honestly, his artistic skills hadn't improved any since he was six. Neither had his ability to tell flowers from weeds.

Erik took a firm hold of his shoulder, steered him into a card store so hard he almost tripped over his own feet, gave him a stern look. Rolling his eyes again, muttering a word his mother would have washed his mouth out for, he picked up a card from the display and grimaced

"Ugh… man, I think I'm gonna barf"

"I told you you didn't need that eleventh cupcake"

"Dude," he drew himself up importantly, "this incredible figure was built on cupcakes, THIS on the other hand? This is what I don't need!"

He shoved the card into his father's eyeline, waited patiently whilst he read the message. Glad when Erik had made a similar distasteful sneer

"That is quite revolting" he took the card, put it back, "Perhaps we can find her something a little less…"

"Disgusting?" Peter suggested, "Fake? Schmaltzy and gross and just plain wrong?"

"All of the above" Erik answered, "Maybe just flowers?"

"Flowers die. She doesn't like chocolate and yes I know how the hell does MY mother not like chocolate, these cards are terrible, and I'm not getting her a teddy. I actually love her, Dadneto, I'm not inflicting Hallmark sentiments on her"

He folded his arms, looked on the very edge of that petulant lower-lip-stuck-out look that made him seem like a moody teenager instead of a mid-twenties young man, giving off his very deepest air of 'you cannot force me to do this'.

"We're going about this the wrong way," Erik sighed, allowed Peter to stomp out of the store, followed him. "Perhaps…"

He stopped in the street, gave his son a grin that looked almost out of place – suddenly it seemed that Peter's streak of mischief had not entirely come from Magda.

"I think I have an idea" he said, "Come on –"

"If this involves balloons," Peter sighed, allowed his father to drag him up the street and to another store, "I'm really not gonna be pleased"


	2. Chapter 2

"Where are the girls?" Peter asked, settled himself down into the corner of the sofa that he still thought of as 'his' corner, though he'd long since moved away. Magda gave him a slightly melancholy smile.

"They can't make it this year hon, it's just you and me. But that's not so bad is it?"

"No" he grinned, "No that's fine… We don't get a whole lot of time by ourselves, it'll be nice"

Magda squeezed his shoulder fondly, reached to pour the tea, cut them both a piece of the sponge cake she'd made. There probably would have been enough even with the girls, but she knew there wouldn't be leftovers.

"You shouldn't have baked you know" he mumbled through a mouthful, made a low noise of pleasure that he couldn't quite help. Nothing was ever going to compare to his Mom's cooking, *ever* "I mean it's Mother's Day and all, I should have made you a cake"

"Do you remember the last time you tried to bake?" she arched an eyebrow at him, watched him turn just a little pink, licking the frosting from his fingers and giving her an apologetic little smile.

"That was mostly Wanda's fault" he explained, "Well… kind of"

"The burn marks came out in the end, Peter. I'm just teasing. You want some more of that?"

"In a minute. I… well…" he tripped over his words, flushed an even deeper pink, scrambled in his jacket pocket and retrieved a little package, "This is for you"

Magda turned the parcel over in her hands. Peter had obviously wrapped it himself, and he was no better at that than he was at drawing or picking flowers. She smiled broadly, worked away at the tape, noticed her son waiting in an agony of anticipation. Inside was a little blue leather case with a silver clasp, just like the one that she carried everywhere.

Erik had sat for hours with his son, picking through the contents of the shoebox he kept that he didn't know his father was aware of. Jubilation had a Polaroid camera, and over the past year, she'd snapped off hundreds of photographs. They had sorted through them, chosen the best, agonised over the choices and eventually found five to slip into the little album. Wanda was there in one, standing with her brother pressed against her and beaming with joy, the twins holding tightly to each other and radiating with happiness at having one another back. Some of Peter's classmates in another, arms around each other in a scrum of friendship and acceptance, her son there with them looking part of the team. A couple of him with his father, obviously caught unawares by the camera – Erik was even smiling in one of them. One of him by himself, sat on the balcony of the Mansion with Wayfarer shades covering his eyes, half-looking at the lens with a coy smile. He looked like a movie star, her handsome little son.

"Those are good tears, right?" Peter asked nervously, "happy, my son is great kind of tears?"

Magda nodded, lunged and crushed him against her tightly until he gasped for breath. Drew away at last and took his face in her hands, gazing at him sincerely and adoringly

"You do know those are the first pictures of you I've had in sixteen years, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah…" he smiled shyly, "Sorry about that…"

"Stop it" she chided, scooped him up again, her voice muffled against his shoulder, "Thank you, hon. I hope I'll have lots more to put in it from now on"

"I think so. I'm not so camera-shy anymore. I'm just so relieved you like it"

"I love you baby boy," she murmured, released him from the embrace but kept a tight hold of his hand, "so so much"

"Happy Mother's Day," he smiled. Accepted the second huge slice she cut, watched her out of the corner of his eye going over the pictures again, pressed warmly against him with her eyes shining in a way that made his heart clench with joy, so glad to see her happy. Stayed for the rest of the day, mostly just talking with her and enjoying having her there, finally dozing off on her shoulder in front of the TV after lunch. Magda smiled and stroked his hair softly, wondered how he managed to combine so much sweetness with such terrifying power. Found that the answer to that was unimportant, and carried on watching with her grown son napping against her, feeling like the luckiest woman alive.


End file.
